


A Documentation of Hysteria Treatment 2A

by atomicsupervillainess



Series: Corpsey Verse [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Basically PWP, Blame Pi for all the smut., Corpsey Verse, Crack Fic, F/M, Fluffy, Hero to women everywhere, IE Victorian vibrators, Smut, So much smut, Suffragette Simmons, Taking one for the team, Women's Hysteria Treatments, adorable established relationship, long suffering fitz, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5167421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atomicsupervillainess/pseuds/atomicsupervillainess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mr. Leopold Fitz entered his dormitory at half-six, this is what he had expected to find:<br/>-An unkempt and messy coverlet, strewn haphazardly across his slim dormitory bed;<br/>-A floor invisible beneath a week's’ worth of discarded frock coats, vests, linen shirts, trousers, neck ties, and underpants;<br/>-A desk invisible beneath three extensive blueprints for an ingenious new sort of photographic camera that used an electromagnetic shutter and eight lenses to create what the human eye would perceive as a ’moving picture’ ;<br/>-A scattering of notebooks, scrap materials from projects in half-finished disarray; and<br/>-Blissful silence, after a long day in the machine workshop with Mr. Mackenzie, sanding down the fine metal edges of the camera’s hand-crank mechanism.</p><p>What Mr. Leopold Fitz had not expected to find, however, was his intended, Miss Jemima Simmons, with her petticoats all in a ruffle about her waist, her be-stockinged knees wide apart, toes curling in the socks, whilst her freckled bosom heaved and pinkened beneath her half unbuttoned bodice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Documentation of Hysteria Treatment 2A

**Author's Note:**

  * For [memorizingthedigitsofpi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/gifts).



> So I hadn't intended on turning my Victorian AU crack!fic verse (which I'm calling the Corpsey Verse in my head...) into anything super smutty, but as this is for the BIRTHDAY of the most precious of snowflakes, the most marshmallowy of homemade hot chocolates, the ever impressive and delightful @memorizingthedigitsofpi, I've written her a sequel for her, within which she requested Victorian vibrators!
> 
> So blame (and any thanks you feel like bestowing) goes to her!
> 
> Also, huuuuuuuuuuuuuge shout out to the inestimable notapepper for her kickass beta skillz!

* * *

 

 

When Mr. Leopold Fitz entered his dormitory at half-six, this is what he had expected to find:

  * An unkempt and messy coverlet, strewn haphazardly across his slim dormitory bed;

  * A floor invisible beneath a week's’ worth of discarded frock coats, vests, linen shirts, trousers, neck ties, and underpants;

  * A desk invisible beneath three extensive blueprints for an ingenious new sort of photographic camera that used an electromagnetic shutter and eight lenses to create what the human eye would perceive as a ’moving picture’ ;

  * A scattering of notebooks, scrap materials from projects in half-finished disarray; and

  * Blissful silence, after a long day in the machine workshop with Mr. Mackenzie, sanding down the fine metal edges of the camera’s hand-crank mechanism.




What Mr. Leopold Fitz had not expected to find, however, was this:

  * A loud and pervasive mechanical whirring sound that set his teeth on edge;

  * A boxy looking stand set at the end of his single bed, set upon with what appeared to be a small engine;

  * A pair of white linen bloomers, hastily divested of; and

  * His future wife, and current fiancee, one Miss Jemima Simmons, with her petticoats all in a ruffle about her waist, her be-stockinged knees wide apart, toes curling in the socks, whilst her freckled bosom heaved and pinkened beneath her half unbuttoned bodice.




He could see the faint pale blue edging on her silken corset, as it pressed tightly against the curve of her breasts, and proceeded to drop his briefcase and yelp in a most ungentlemanly fashion - “ _Miss Simmons_!”

Immediately, Miss Simmons’ eyes, which had been squeezed tightly shut, flew to her near-husband’s face as he stood, framed in the wide open dormitory door. Her mouth which had been (Mr. Fitz gulped upon recognizing) bowed with desire, gave a tiny cry of shock and then hissed, “The door, Leopold! The door!”

And then she promptly gasped, her back arching almost of it’s own volition. “ _Ooh_!” she cried.

Without taking his eyes off the sight (his fiancee with her hand up her skirts, nearly coming off the bed in a fit of pleasure), he fumbled, hastily and awkwardly behind him, to slam and then latch the door.

“What on Ea-arth -!” His voice cracked, high and pubescent, his cheeks brightening upon the notice that in Jemma’s hand, pressed against her...her, um. _Her_ -uhhh…. _her_ , was a mechanical device of some sort, which (he extrapolated from the electrical cord stringing it to the puffing, whirring engine and the sound it emitted quite loudly) vibrated. And she was pressing it against _her_...most secret _womanly_ areas.

Areas, he was embarrassed to admit, he had never actually had visual or physical familiarity with, as he had turned down Mr.Hunter’s numerous invitations to the more seedy brothels he was fond of frequenting.

It was simply the biological fluids and - “Oh my giddy aunt,” Fitz gulped, espying the glistening sheen of the spongy head of the device, now stilling from its blur of movement as Jemma sat up, her bodice sleeve slipping down her shoulder.

“Before you say anything, Fitz,” she began, her voice shuddery and breathless, “do remember you were the one who encouraged me to take decisive action for _both_ my political beliefs, _and_ my medical education! And I couldn’t _possibly_ bring a stolen hysterical massager into the home of one of England’s most pre-eminent Judges and Cabinet Ministers! Why if Papa had any notion I’d engaged in criminal activities -!”

“-Hysterical _massager_?! _Stolen_!? Simmons! How _could_ you?!” Fitz broke in, cutting a trail through his discarded clothing towards the end of the bed. “Ahh!” He spun suddenly, covering his eyes with one hand and gripping the bedknob, white-knuckled, with the other.

Her stocking ties had been little satin ribbons in matching cornflower blue. His trousers felt especially confining all of the sudden, and he whimpered mightily.

“ _You cannot do such things_!” His voice was strangled.

“Oh, I’ve made you upset,” she cooed, dropping the heavy device. She gave her wrist a quick rub, and then came to her knees, crawling across the bed to place her small hand upon his larger, quivering one. “Oh darling, rest assured I’m not hysterical, my love.”

Fitz peered at her concerned face through the fan of his fingers.

“Why, there isn’t a single woman who _is_ actually hysterical, if I’m being quite frank. It’s simply hookum. A made-up affliction by some hackney bleeders who like to pretend to knowledge of the medical sciences. As I’ve gathered from my experimentation with the massage, I’ve come to the scientific conclusion that, biologically speaking, the only thing this pelvic massage treats is a woman’s sexual dissatisfaction.”

He must have forgotten how to breath. And how to stand. Somehow, a fraction of a minute later, he came up, choking and wheezing, with the button fly of his trousers tented like the Barnum & Bailey Circus. “Errm, _um, sex_ -sexual…?” he trailed off, his face hot as he stared at Jemma.

“Oh yes, quite! It’s a simple mechanism, but rather brilliant really! By applying pressure and vibration, a clitoral orgasm is summarily induced in the female patient. It’s really…” She trailed off, blushing prettily across the bridge of her nose, beginning to quaver under Fitz’s intense gaze. “Really, um,” she cast her eyes down, but could not help the rather red flush, nor the curl of her lips, as she finished, “quite... _nice_.”

Fitz gulped, and then nodded rapidly. He raked his eyes over her more of her than he had ever had the opportunity to see before. He took in the rumpled, disheveled dress, her plump lips, suffused with blood, and the smattering of freckles that extended past the high-neck of her normal gowns and dresses all the way past (he assumed) the dented curve of her breasts, secreted beneath her cornflower blue corset.

“‘s blue, like, uh…” He emitted, his voice nothing but a strangled whisper as he gestured to it, unconsciously stepping forward, stepping so close into her personal space his finger brushed the lace edging.

Simmons arched up without meaning to. She pressed her breasts further into the feather-light brush of his fingertips with a high exhalation of breath. “Blue like your eyes, my love.”

Repressing a growl, Fitz surged forward, ensnaring her mouth. His fingertips traced the edging of the corset, pressing dangerously into the line that separated satin from skin, searching out the criss-cross lacing as his eyes fell closed.

Jemma keened into his lips, her mouth stuttering open at this sudden, most forward of caresses. He darted his tongue into the little opening, and kissed her deeply, plunderingly, pressing her backwards onto his rumpled comforter. He had half-crawled on top of her before he remembered himself.

With a cry of alarm, he wrenched himself from her lips, her freckled expanse of milky skin, and the smooth flesh that escaped her stocking at her upper thigh, and toppled bodily off the bed.

“ _Forgive me_!” he cried, panting hard into his hands. “It was _most_ ungentlemanly - so unbecoming - I have no -”

“-need to apologize, dearest,” Jemma overrode.

He hazarded a glance, and immediately regretted it - the sudden wave of lust that had overtaken him began to crest again as his eyes sought the form and shape and colour hidden beneath the damnable shadows of the voluminous petticoats, drawn up to her waist in their passions, and yet, still hiding that one place, that one spot that had given her so much pleasure.

“Why, you were simply assisting in providing relief to your fiancee’s hysteria. You were...caring for my wellbeing,” Jemma supplied, a naughty, teasing, trill tightening in her tone.

“I could… assist in your experiment, I suppose?” Fitz moved onto hands and knees, slowly, ever so slowly, drawing near.

His shoulders rolled with every forward movement, like some sort of jungle cat in a menagerie, and it made something clench low in Jemma’s belly. She nodded, rapidly, sucking in a wanton breath. As he climbed onto the bed, he pulled loose his cravat, letting the edges drape about his neck. He hovered above her calves.

“It would do to be well - _aah_!” Jemma’s eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks as she gave a sudden cry, reacting to the slight pressure of his hand as it gripped her thigh, leveraging it open, “-well versed in the procedure,” she whimpered, her eyes squeezed shut so she could force out the words, in the face of the new predicament she found herself in - attempting to remain clinical whilst being touched, _manhandled_ , as it were, by her future husband. It was quite - _quite_ , well, _beastly_ , really -

“Tell me more,” he whispered, his curls pressing soft against her temple as his breath tickled her ear, hot and moist. “Perhaps you might show Doctor Fitzy how this contraption performs its labours?”

Jemma gasped, feeling the heavy device dropped in her palm. Fitz leaned back, placed his hands on her stocking covered knees, and pressed them wide apart and up, bunching her skirts and revealing the curve of her bottom and the glistening lips at the apex of her thighs.

“ _By Heavens_ ,” he breathed, taking her in.

His eyes were wide and awestruck and intent. He licked his lips, and coaxed. “Miss Simmons?”

Jemma felt a fluttering inside her as she flipped the power switch, setting the whirring gears in motion, the spongy head into a blur. Fitz gave a creaky groan from his perch between her thighs, and reached to readjust his crotch. “If you’re quite ready,” he croaked.

She swept the vibrating head against her slit, her juices already seeping out to moisten it. Fitz whimpered, his eyebrows creasing together needfully, and stroked up the smooth skin of her thighs, his palms pressing deeply.

Jemma shuddered a sigh, and struggled to keep her eyes open and watching him, observing the play of lust and desire across his flushed cheeks, his half-open, perfect mouth, the intensity of his gaze as he stared at the device, dipping further beneath her lips, and swiping upward to brush against the little nub -

“ _Oooh_!” Jemma bleated, the vibrations hitting her already sensitive clit.

“Oh _yesss_ ,” Fitz hissed, snaking a hand to her lower back as she arched, pressing heavily into the massager, the coil in her twisting tighter and tighter, already halfway there when Fitz had walked in, interrupting her.

With his hand beneath her, supporting her and enfolding her against the heavily vibrating head of the massager, it was only mere seconds before she could feel herself tightening her awareness down to that tiny nub at her centre.

Fitz stared, transfixed, as she writhed upon the mechanism. He pulled her tighter against it, unaware and uncaring of the wet spot forming on the front of his tented trousers. He was too caught up in it, in the way her hips bucked and stuttered and her hair fell out in tiny ringlets onto her chest, wetting at the ends with the tiny beads of sweat beginning to form.

She was so close, he could tell, so close to bursting, when all of a sudden, the sound of snarling gears wrenched loudly, and a puff of smoke drifted from the suddenly still mechanism.

Jemma gave a small cry of despair and slumped into the mattress like a very frustrated ragdoll. “It broke,” she whined.

Fitz exhaled a heavy puff of air, his shoulders drooping in disappointment. “Bloody hell.”

He scrambled for the discarded massager, twisting and turning it over in his hands, before crying out, “ _Blasted,_ bloody, cobbling _bastards_!” He turned the thing over again, inspecting it closely. “These wires _aren'_ even properly grounded! An’ with a motor like this! _Mother of all things_! This is dangerous, Jemma! Women could be hurt! It’s a health and safety risk!”

Launching off the bed, he fumbled for his briefcase. "For the sake of women everywhere, I shall construct a better one!" he declared, grabbing up a few rolled up blueprints and a moleskin. “Give me a day and a half.”

“Oh! And bring the moving picture camera! Imagine the advances we could make with a visual reference for the physiological phenomena, Fitz!” Jemma instructed with an enthusiastic smile.

Fitz was suddenly hit with a brilliant idea. “I’ll automate the crank device so it won’t have to be manually run, as well, shall I? That way I can log your responses - I assume you’ll want a copy for your research as well? I’ll be sure to grab onion-skin paper.”

* * *

 

A day and a half later, with the curtains drawn tight and the door locked, Fitz positioned the moving picture camera to take in through the lense the entire expanse of his tiny bed, peering down from the head of it to the foot, so there was a clear line of sight down the reach of Jemma’s body. He turned the lever on the crank automator, and slid out from beneath the curtain just as Jemma began to shimmy out from her bloomers, leaving her in nothing but her corset and petticoats, garter and stockings.

Fitz pressed his palm down against the hard line of his trouser-fly, already thankful he’d managed to overcome the manual-crank issue. While he intended to use his hands for data recording, he had a feeling things with this experiment might perchance, take a turn into...uncharted territory.

Clearing his throat, Fitz unsnapped the case that held his newly improved female massage device, attaching the electrical cord to the wall outlet he had installed specifically for this purpose (He had claimed it was for electrical impulse and combustion engine experimentation, which was not much of a lie, as far as the Royal Shield Academy’s campus security was concerned).

He struggled to keep his eyes focused on his beloved’s face, instead of her petticoats. He couldn’t help but think about the thatch of hair at the juncture of her thighs.

Clearing his throat, he drew out the machine. It was a two piece contraption with a slim, wooden shaft for a handle, sanded and oiled to smooth sheen. Attached to a little metal rod was a round, bulbous head of soft, supple leather. “I noticed when you - you...last time, the way you, erm...liked it best,” he tried, affixing his eyes to his invention instead. “So I made the head larger and rounder for a fuller vibration and crafted the handle for a broader range of motion so you can, um, move it and erm, angle it any way you, eh, you like...best,” he finished, exhaling in a relieved whoosh, happy to have gotten it all out. “I call it the Magic Wand, ‘cause, um, it sort of looks like one.”

Jemma ran her hand along the shaft, cupping her palm around the ball. Her eyebrow raised appreciatively when she flicked the lever on the bottom, feeling the rumbling vibration. “I anticipate this will do very nicely, Fitz. Why, you might be able to patent a home-care hysteria massager!” She complimented.

He blushed red and looked down, a shy, pleased grin on his face. “Good, ‘cause I’m takin’ notes. For improvement and...erm...other things.”

“Other things?”

“.. _.Likeourweddin’night,_ ” he mumbled in a garble, turning around and gathering the clipboard with the onionskin paper. “So, erm, be vocal and honest.” He threw her a cheeky grin. “As per usual.”

Jemma swatted him in the shoulder, and settled into the pile of pillows he’d supplied, shimmying her shoulders to get comfortable. Fitz scooted back to the end of the bed to sit cross-legged. Antsy, he tugged at his cravat, loosening it.

Jemma’s eyes found his, and without breaking her gaze, smirked.

 _Oh no._ Fitz thought, suddenly. He recognized that smirk. It was her naughty smirk. It was her bad girl shenanigans smirk. He whimpered in recognition, his mouth falling open as she shifted the wand in her hand, dragging it sensually against the curve of her left breast.

“You’re a cruel an’ unfeelin’ woman,” he croaked.

“ _Au contraire_ , my darling beau,” Jemma’s mouth curled naughtily. “I happen to be feeling quite a lot, thanks to you.”

Fitz whimpered, dragging his hands down his face and a then back up, pushing through his hair. “Petticoats?”

Jemma raised her eyebrow, dipping the wand beneath her skirts and giving a pleased hum, a shudder running down her spine. “Was - _MmMMmmmm_ \- that a question?”

“Please,” he begged, pushing back against the wooden footboard, so he didn’t push forward and pull her to him, ravishing her mere weeks from their wedding day. “ _Higher_?”

Jemma’s eyes fluttered closed, her breath hitching as she clutched at her frothy petticoats, pulling them up as she raised and parted her knees. Fitz bit his lip, ripping the knot from his tied cravat. It was suddenly quite warm.

Fitz surreptitiously rubbed his palm against his crotch, his breathing growing heavy as her mouth fell open into a delicious ‘O’ of pleasure, the leather head dipping down and dragging up against her slit, pressing deep. Her thighs trembled, pressing together to hold the vibrating head just there - hard against her inner lips, quivering against her clit. Her back arching, she fell to the side, moaning long and sustained, her body jerking with each tiny little cry that followed. Her hands seemed to lose their grip, and she sighed, shuddering, and let the wand fall from between her knees.

“ _Jesus Christ Almighty and all the apostles_ ,” Fitz cursed, tugging off his stifling frock coat and unbuttoning his vest, one handed. His other hand fisted into the sheets as he watched her body shudder with tiny aftershock after tiny aftershock, until she was taking gulping breaths, the massager forgotten by her knee.

He thought he was made of stronger stuff. Built with a true mettle. Steel, even. Why, he had been the youngest student accepted to the Royal Shield Academy, surely it accounted for something! Well, technically, the dewy-skinned woman sprawled along his slim bed with her skirts rucked up against her corset, exposing the round swell of her bottom cheeks and her wet inner thighs - she was the youngest. But still! Surely he could hold himself back…

Fitz shifted, and his cock slid roughly against the button of his trousers, drawing out a pained hiss that caught Jemma’s attention.

“Fitz?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she took in his disheveled state of half-undress, his feverish complexion, and the hard line of his cock against his inseam - _By God_ he needed to be free of these trousers -

“Are you quite alright?”

“I should -” He made motion for the door. “Take care of...go, erm… To the loo…”

“You’ll hardly be able to urinate with an erection that full,” Jemma said, her matter-of-fact words undercut by her breathy tone and lascivious stare.

“ _Jemma_!” He cried, hastily pressing his hands to his crotch to hide his shame.

“What? You know I apprenticed in veterinary studies under Doctor Garner! _I do know_ what a penis is, and -” Jemma’s flushed face suffused with even more colour, “- and what purpose it serves...How it performs...pleasure, however,” she squeaked, biting her lip in a way that made him groan and squeeze his dick hard through the material of his trousers, “that I have not yet experienced.”

“Three weeks, Jemma. I _can’t_ \- I can’t touch you. You can’t touch _me_ \- it’s _not_ \- not _proper_ ,” he bit out, squeezing his eyes shut and banging his head hard against the footboard. If only he could bang other things - like her hot, wet, little cunny, which peeked out at him every time she shifted her thighs.

He whimpered, his resolve crumbling like a sandcastle in the tide.

“Until then...We can treat your hysteria.” He reached out a hand, caressing her ankle. “Consider this a loophole.”

Very slowly, Fitz closed his fingers around her foot, and pulled. Her skirts rode up as she moved further down the bed, until her naked bottom hit his trousered knees, her legs falling against his sides.

She was so open to him. _By Christ_ , he couldn’t stand it any longer! With a flick of his wrist, he undid the top two buttons of his fly, his cock twitching with the newfound room.

Jemma licked her lips, watching his cock strain against his pants, pushing through his open fly. “Fitz?”

He picked up her discarded wand, and ran the vibrating head against her inner thigh. “For the interests of science,” he quirked a cheeky grin, giving himself over to the not quite rule-breaking but definitely rule-bending circumstances, and winked, his cheeks reddening. “Be sure to rate your pleasure on a scale of one to ten. Ten of course, being the highest.”

With that, Fitz swirled the supple leather head around her lips, softly, teasingly. A trill shivered up her spine as she gazed up at him, her knees squeezing against his ribs involuntarily. There was something about him like this, nearly undone - cravat hanging loose, sleeves pushed half-way up his arms, vest open - something about him when he was just this way, that did _things_ to her.

Her swept the wand down and up, delving into her crevice, making her gasp as he pressed against a particularly sensitive part of her inner lips. “That angle?” he inquired, removing his free hand from where it had been stroking her thigh to write down a quick shorthand jot on the clipboard. “Or this one?”

She made an embarrassing bleat as he caught the underside of her clit, the little bundle of nerves singing, so soon after being stimulating to orgasm once before. She coloured, but nodded briskly, not trusting her mouth. He grinned wolfishly down at her, repeating the motion to ascertain the reaction.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he reminded. “On a scale of one to ten?”

He pressed the wand harder against her clit, and she let out a tiny shriek. “Fourty-two! Fourty-two! Oh! Don’t move!” she cried, bucking her hips against it in a rapid-fire rhythm, throwing herself against the edge of an intense orgasm, cracking it open like an egg.

“ _AAAAAaaaaahhghhhhhh_!” she cried, her back arching and going rigid against the tiny flicks he was meting out against the little bundle of nerves, extending her pleasure until a little keening cry eked out of her mouth, and she collapsed, shivery, her knees falling slack and wide.

“Bloody Christ, do that again?” he pleaded, pulling the massager back, rubbing it gently in wet circles against her inner thigh.

Jemma panted, and gave a disbelieving laugh. “I think I might die,” she giggled, rolling onto her side in a heap.

“But...the science?” Fitz begged, his brows pursing puppyishly.

Jemma giggled. “For _science_ , Fitz?”

His adorably candid expression morphed into something far more wolfish. He smiled a knowing half-smile and cast a darkly understanding glance at her pink pussy.

He hefted the wand closer while she continued her giggling, her legs splayed as she lay on her side in a pool of petticoats and sheets. Fitz leaned over her, across her back, to place a chaste kiss behind her ear just as he pressed the vibrator into her sopping wet, and extremely sensitive, pussy.

She cried out at the sensation and tried to stifle a moan against his sheets, but he saw the way her back arched to meet it, and felt the tenuous pressure as she angled herself against it. Feeling on the edge of wildness, he brought his free hand up to tangle in her hair and angle her ear close to his lips. “From that wee moan, it appears you agree?”

They were pressed back to front, tight together.He dragged his hand against the side of her face, a mask of pleasure, sweeping his thumb against the pillowy cushion of her perfect, pink bottom lip as she moaned for him.

“Your quim is so wet, my honey,” he whispered into her ear, his breath hot and moist and curling against her throat, his thumb rubbing against her half-open mouth, and it was so much, all of it - the press of his body along her back, the feel of his stubble against her jaw, the heady, mounting ache between her legs, that thumb…

Without warning, Jemma’s tongue darted out, dancing across the tip of his thumb as he moved his fingers against her lips. “Bloody blue blazes, Jem,” he cursed, grinding his hips against the undulating curve of her ass as she worked herself against the magic wand.

She flicked her tongue against his fingers again, hoping to hear him curse - hoping to hear her perfectly proper, traditional, upstanding husband-to-be curse like a dockworker and lose his composure, and fuck her hard like one of those east end prostitutes, all rough and animal-like.

She sucked his fingers into her mouth, and he growled low in his throat, thrusting them against her tongue, deep into her mouth, to the same rhythm that he ground his pelvis against her pert bottom with. He imagined something else - something longer and thicker pumping in and out of her mouth like this, and his cock twitched again, and his thrusts grew more forceful until suddenly, Jemma shrieked, stuttering forward to press her cunny hard against the bulbous head of the wand, coming again, so hard that when she squeezed her eyes shut, two tiny tears trailed down her cheeks.

“ _Fuck_ , fuck Jem, oh _fuuuuuuuck_ ,” she heard Fitz swear through the fog of her orgasm, felt him pushing off her, scrambling away. “Fucking christ, _tha’ was_ \- tha’ was the mos’…. _erotic_ thing. You’re the _most beautiful_ fucking creature -”

Jemma rolled onto her back, her half-lidded eyes finding him as he stood at the edge of the bed facing away from her.

“-an’ here I am, makin’ a strumpet of you! I’m a terrible, terrible fiancé. I’m a horrible husband.” He fumbled with the buttons on his trousers, panting hard as her hand closed around his elbow, forcing him to turn to her, his now free cock bobbing an abused red right at her eye level. “I’m a bad, bad man,” he said, forlornly.

Jemma pushed herself to sitting, and said, “Yes, but you’re _my_ very bad, bad man. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She fisted a hand into his linen shirt and pulled, bringing him back to the bed. He hovered over her. His chest was flushed through the open buttons, his curls a tangle, and his eyes were blown wide and dark with lust.

She kissed him, deeply, and then took him in hand. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said with a wink.

* * *

 

When the performance of a good many sins (but not all of the sins two people may be prone to surrendering to in such a state) had been committed in the single bed, enough to leave them both panting and shaking and stroking the other’s bodies just to see gooseflesh rise on the full expanse of naked flesh available to them, Fitz’s curiosity got the better of him.

“What's the medical term for this bit of flesh, Jemma?” he asked, his forefinger swirling around her swollen clitoris.

She mumbled something halfway intelligible into the pillow.

"-clitoris, you say? Well I'll inform you now - I intend to fully abuse it on our wedding night." Fitz grinned proudly as she half-sobbed, half-giggled into the pillow, and then turned to kiss him full on the mouth.

She chuckled fondly against his lips. “Well, in France, they do call an orgasm _le petit mort_ , and I suppose, there are many worse ways to die.”

 


End file.
